


Mistletoe and No Wine

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, set Christmas 2011 (between s5 and s6)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-02
Updated: 2014-05-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 15:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1555127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If there was ever going to be an occasion where Lewis kissed him, or vice versa, James didn't want it to be because of a seasonal tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to paperscribe and barcardivodka, my beta readers and Brit-picker. The story has been tweaked since it's return, and all errors are mine.
> 
> Yes, May is an odd time to post a Christmas story. There is a reason. :)

* * *

 

James Hathaway arrived at the station on the second Monday in December only to discover the moment he had come to dread every year had finally arrived.  A plastic spruce tree, the same one James had seen every Christmas since he had first stepped foot inside the building, had been set up near the duty sergeant’s desk and tastefully decorated.  Garlands of worn tinsel stretched across the ceiling, and a cardboard Santa was taped to the staff entry door.  Heading down the corridor towards the stairway, James’s attention was drawn towards the door to the copier room, where two PCs were air-kissing under a spray of mistletoe.  His mood sank a little lower.  James wasn't a Scrooge; it was simply that some Christmas traditions evoked few happy memories for him.  
  
Continuing up the stairs, and onto the office he shared with DI Robbie Lewis, James found himself furtively glancing upwards every time someone approached him in the corridor.  The previous year, some wag – James had strong circumstantial evidence it was DC Hooper – had attached mistletoe to the exit sign near the door to their office.  James had removed it on two occasions while working late, but both times it had been replaced the following morning.  Lewis had joined in the spirit of fun, bestowing pecks on cheeks whenever he was caught underneath, while James had judiciously avoided walking under the sign at all.  It was mid-January before he stopped unconsciously looping around DC Beck's desk.  
  
If there was ever going to be an occasion where Lewis kissed him, or vice versa, James didn't want it to be because of a seasonal tradition.  
.  
.  
.  
While waiting for his email program to start and update, James sorted through the files in Lewis’s in-tray, determining which tasks he could readily relieve his governor of.  He dropped two files on his own desk, sitting down just as Lewis walked in.  
  
“Morning ... sir?”  
  
Lewis looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.  He thumped down in his chair and stared at James.  When he opened his mouth, all that came out was a tiny, worried sigh.  James was at a loss.  
  
“Tea?”  James wanted a moment to think without creating an awkward silence.  
  
Lewis nodded, gratitude not quite erasing the lines on his brow.  
  
James stopped at PC Julie Lockhart’s desk.  “Can I have a couple of your English Breakfast, please, Julie?” he whispered.  “The boss looks like he's in need of a decent cuppa.”  
  
She handed over the tea bags with a smile, concern crossing her face as she glanced back towards the office.  
  
James hurried to the break room.  
  
As he waited impatiently for the kettle to boil, James tried to work out what could be wrong.  Their last case had been relatively straightforward, and was now in the hands of the CPS.  Lewis had been moving quite freely, so James assumed his back wasn't giving him any trouble.  He wondered if there was another problem with his new home.  Lewis had moved into a two-bedroom flat several months earlier and had had trouble with both the boiler and the central heating, but James thought everything had now been sorted out.  
  
 _Could something have happened to Lyn or, God forbid, his grandson?_   James knew he usually had a quick chat with Lyn on Monday mornings, so it was possible he’d had bad news. _No_ , James decided, giving a sharp huff, _not that_ ;Lewis’s body language had been all wrong for something of that nature.  James closed his eyes and brought Lewis’s face to mind.  The last time James had seen the same dejected posture on Lewis had been when Innocent had 'volunteered' him to make a speech.  James wasn't aware of Lewis being asked to attend any upcoming events, so he doubted that was the case this time.  He shook his head slowly.  The one thing he was certain of was, whatever had happened, it had put Lewis in a quandary.  He was still no wiser as the kettle shut itself off with a thunk.  
  
James carried two steaming mugs into the office.  Lewis pushed himself back from the desk and reached up to take one from him.   
  
“Oh, ta,” he sighed gratefully.  
  
James was torn between returning to his own chair and giving Lewis his space and sitting on the edge of Lewis’s desk and refusing to move until Lewis gave him some sort of explanation, even if it was only to tell him to mind his own business.  With a small shrug, more to himself than Lewis, James opted for the middle ground and rested his bum against the edge of his own desk.  
  
Lewis glanced up and away, his eyes briefly connecting with James’s.  James waited, watching Lewis over the rim of his mug.   
  
“I was talking to Lyn this morning,” Lewis began.  “You know I’m supposed to be going up to Manchester for Christmas?”  
  
James nodded.  He especially remembered the look on Innocent's face when Lewis had agreed to take Christmas leave without the usual arguments.  She'd obviously been prepared to wearhim down and he'd stopped her in mid-flight with, “My application should be in your email, ma'am.  I sent it first thing this morning.”  James focused intently on Lewis.  He didn’t like the ‘supposed to be’.  
  
“Well, there's been a change of plans.”  Lewis didn't look upset, just uncharacteristically flustered.  “Lyn was... a bit annoyed.  Tim's just been told he’ll be off work the days between Christmas and New Year – he was supposed to be working, but the bosses have now decided to shut up shop instead.  She said if they’d known earlier, she would have liked to arrange to come down to Oxford this Christmas, instead of me going up there.  She’d really liked the idea of introducing Matthew to family and old friends here while he was still a wee bairn, but didn’t want to rush a visit over the weekend.”  On mentioning his grandson, Lewis’s face briefly softened.  Though James had seen this response many times since Matthew’s birth, a fond smile once again tugged at the corners of his mouth.  It disappeared as Lewis’s frown returned.    
  
“Lyn sounded so disappointed that I said, ‘Why don’t you come down?  I’ve got the room and the time off.’”  The lines deepened.  
  
“And… now you’re having second thoughts?” James queried warily.  _But wasn’t that the whole point of moving to a bigger flat?_ he pondered.   _So they could stay with you on short notice?_   He couldn’t quite see what had unsettled Lewis so much.  There were still two full weeks until Christmas, and it wasn’t as though Lewis would have a lot to do to make the flat ready for guests.  James raised his cup to his lips to cover his puzzlement.  
  
“It’s not the staying that’s the problem.”  Lewis met James’s steady gaze with his own.  “To make things a bit easier, I said I’d organise Christmas lunch, and now Lyn’s somehow got it into her head that I’ll be cooking a proper meal with all the trimmings.”  
  
James narrowly avoided snorting a mouthful of tea through his nose, coughing harshly instead as the hot liquid caught the back of his throat. ~~  
~~  
“I know!”  Lewis winced.  “I’m still not entirely sure what happened, but the last thing Lyn said to me was she’d email me her mam’s recipe for stuffing, and she was looking forward to seeing how much I’d learnt in the kitchen.”  He wrapped his hands around the mug now sitting in the middle of his desk, looked at James with an air of resignation, and exhaled slowly.  “James, I can’t reheat leftover chicken curry without drying it out.  How the hell am I supposed to cook a turkey?”  
  
“You’re certain she wasn’t teasing you, waiting for a reaction?”  James had swallowed the offending tea and set his mug down on the desk.  
  
Lewis shook his head slowly. “I was thinking about that on the way in, but there was nothing in her voice to indicate she was taking the mickey.  She was just so excited about actually coming down here instead, and hurried off to call Tim.”  
  
James moved to his chair as he considered what Lewis had said.  “You must have had something in mind when you offered to organise lunch; what was it?”  James was curious to learn how Lewis could have found himself in such a predicament.  While Lewis wasn’t completely lost in the kitchen – he had learnt a lot over the past couple of years, and the handful of dishes he could make, he made very well – a full Christmas dinner was, well, rather ambitious, to say the least.  
  
Lewis sipped at his tea.  “I was thinking I could make a booking at one of the hotels.  I figured I’d still have a chance of getting three adults and a bairn in somewhere if I phoned around today.  But now...”  Lewis slipped a little further down in his chair.  
  
“But now you want to come through for Lyn,” James finished.  He thought he understood Lewis’s decision.  Lewis didn’t have many opportunities to do something special for his daughter and, while this was something he’d never normally have considered, he’d kick himself if he let the opportunity pass.  
  
Lewis bore an expression of quiet, if reluctant, acceptance.  “I must be going daft in me old age.”  
  
“You're not old, sir.  Nor daft.”  
  
“It’s kind of you to say so, James, but I'm not exactly in me prime either.”  
  
James quietly appraised his governor.  “They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, sir; I'm sure Dr Hobson would have something to say about your self-assessment.”  
  
“Which is no doubt why she's seeing Franco again,” Lewis responded dryly.   
  
“Ah.  Sorry.”  James had suspected that to be the case.  Interestingly, Lewis didn’t appear too bothered.  
  
Lewis shrugged.  “Nothing to be sorry for, lad; at least one of us is moving forward.”  
  
Unsure how to continue, James thought it best to get their conversation back to Lyn and Christmas.  
  
“So, did you and Lyn make any specific plans, or...?”  James let the question hang.  
  
“They'll come down on the Saturday, Christmas Eve morning – Tim’s leave doesn’t start until the Friday and Lyn doesn’t want to drive down at night – and they’ll stay with me until the twenty-seventh at least.  Lyn said her Aunt Cissy’s been on at her to visit ever since Matthew arrived, so Lyn’s going to see if they can stay with her up in Wolvercote for the rest of the week.  If not, they’ll stay with me until the following Saturday.”  
  
That made sense to James.  Lewis had two weeks’ leave – he was originally going to spend the week before Christmas in Manchester – and was also due to return to work after New Year’s Day.  
  
Lewis sighed heavily.  “As for the lunch…”  He peered at James.  “I don’t suppose you know anything about cooking a turkey, do you?”  
  
“I’ve cooked turkey once, at the Seminary.”  _I also spent a lot of time in the kitchens at Crevecoeur.  You might be surprised how much a small boy can absorb._ “And I’ve done a few roast chicken dinners in my time.”  
  
“Oh, aye?”  James heard the curiosity in Lewis’s voice.  “You’ve never cooked one for me when I’ve had dinner at yours.”  
  
“That would be because it’s usually late, we’re often both starving, and omelettes are quicker.”  Lewis conceded the point with a small nod.  “Truth is, I’ve never cooked a chicken dinner for anyone other than myself.  What I don’t eat goes in the freezer; it reheats well.  Next time I plan to make one, I’ll invite you over.”  
  
Lewis looked a little embarrassed.  “I wasn’t fishing for an invitation.  I didn’t mean–”  
  
“I know,” James said lightly.  “Back to your predicament, though.  I'd be happy to help you out in any way I can, on the day and before.” The words were out before James could stop himself.  _Idiot. You can't just plant yourself into a family Christmas._ James was well awareLewis wasn't so proud that he wouldn’t ask for help when he needed it... most of the time,  James resisted the urge to slump down in his chair, and held his breath.  
  
“Would you?”  Lewis's relief radiated across the room.  James nodded to affirm his offer.  “I couldn’t ask you to change your own plans for Christmas, though.  You’ll have to write everything down for me.”  
  
“It wouldn’t...  I...”  _I don’t have any plans beyond attending Mass._   James’s expression must have given him away   
  
“Although, on reflection,” Lewis began slowly, “and at risk of sounding selfish, if there is any way you could be with us for Christmas Day, I’d really appreciate having you there, you know, to keep me on track and make sure I don’t burn the flat down.”  
  
Trust Lewis to make the offer in such a way it would be James doing him a favour.  “We wouldn’t want that to happen.  I’m sure I could arrange something.”  
  
“Good.”  Lewis nodded firmly.  “I know Lyn’s keen to meet you, and I think it’s well past time the two of you met.”  
  
Words briefly failed James.  “I...  Thank you, sir.”  After also being ‘encouraged’ to take leave at the same time – “I’d love to have one year where the two of you aren’t haunting my nick over Christmas,” Innocent had said firmly – James had been preparing himself for a lonely fortnight while Lewis was up in Manchester.  Now he had something to look forward to even if he did end up spending much of his time in the kitchen.  
  
“It’s me who should be thanking you, lad.”  Lewis dragged the contents of his in-tray towards him.  “Dinner at my place tonight?  Help me figure out what needs to be done?”  
  
“I look forward to it.”   
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Because of their upcoming leave, they’d been taken off the rotation at the completion of their last case.  However, they weren’t idle, as Innocent had asked them to assist DI Laxton’s team.  They spent most of the day scanning CCTV footage and reviewing interviews.  Five o'clock rolled around slowly, though not unbearably so.  
  
Lewis stretched at the desk, releasing a series of soft grunts and finishing with a satisfied huff.  “D'you fancy Chinese or Indian tonight?”  Lewis stood, retrieving his jacket from the back of his chair.  
  
“Should we try something different?  I've heard good reports about the new Vietnamese place up the road.”  
  
Lewis inclined his head slightly.  “As long as I don't have to cook it, and it's not overly spicy, I'll give it a shot.”  
  
“Not overly spicy?”  James paused as he pulled on his coat.  “This from the man who complained his last Vindaloo wasn't hot enough.”  
  
“Well, it wasn't.  How much do you know about Vietnamese food, anyway?”  
  
“Believe it or not,next to nothing.”  James pulled a slip of paper out of his wallet, and held it up between the fingers of his right hand.  “I'm relying completely on Julie's recommendations.  She's the one who put me on to the place.”  
  
“Right.”  Lewis followed James out the door.  
.  
.  
.  
Lewis's only regret about James's dinner choice was that they couldn't eat all of it in one sitting.  While James divided the remaining food evenly across two containers and found space for them in the fridge, Lewis washed and dried their plates and cutlery.  They worked together silently, brushing past each other as necessary.  Lewis always found a little peace in these small domestic moments with James, not that he'd dare say anything to him.  James would probably think he was daft, or worse, lonely.  He might be alone, but as long as James was around he certainly wasn't lonely.  He always avoided thinking any further than he had to about that.  They were mates, and partners, and everyone knew a police partnership could be closer than a marriage, and that was that.  It didn't mean anything else. ****  
  
“All done?”  James's voice pulled him from his woolgathering with a start. ****  
  
“Ah, yeah, done.”  Lewis dried his hands on the tea towel and took the offered beer.  “Any more of those tonight and you'll be sleeping in the spare room.”  He nodded at the half empty bottle in James's hand as they headed towards the couch.  
  
“I don't mind,” James answered lightly, but his smile quickly faltered.  “Unless you don't want–”  
  
“You're always welcome, James.”  Lewis rolled his eyes.  “You don't need to wait for an invitation.”  
  
“Does that mean I can bring some clothes over?  Maybe leave a spare toothbrush and shaving kit in the bathroom?”  While James was being cheeky, Lewis thought there was merit in the idea, and wished he'd thought of it himself.  
  
He looked down at James who'd settled himself in his usual corner of the couch.  “There's no reason why you can't.  There's plenty of room now, and it makes a lot of sense.”  
  
James stammered, “I didn't mean...  I wasn't...”  
  
“James,” Lewis said patiently, “I'm serious.  Bring some of your stuff over.  If nothing else, it'll stop me feeling guilty about chasing you out the door without coffee so you can get home and get ready for work on time.”  Lewis sat down next to him.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  James's gentle smile was a joy to behold, so rarely did such a true expression cross his face.  
  
“And that's another thing.”  Lewis spoke kindly as he pointed his bottle at James.  “I know I've asked you before, and you've eloquently stated all your reasons why not, but can you consider dropping the 'sir' off duty, if only for Christmas?  Lyn'll have a field day if you 'sir' me in front of her.”  
  
“That could be interest–”  
  
“James.”  
  
“Yes, s–  Robbie?”  
  
“What am I going to do about Christmas?”  
  
“It all depends on how ambitious you want to be.  There’s a lot you can buy ready prepared if you want to simplify matters.”  
  
“I was thinking about that.  It was always Val’s mother who made the Christmas pudding when the kids were younger, but as they got older it was a store bought one with custard, so I don’t think Lyn’ll be too fussed about that.  I know you’ll be there, and you know what to do, but the more I’ve been thinking about it, the more I feel I’d like to at least try and do most of the main course meself.  But I’ve no real idea where to start.”  
  
“Then I’ll teach you this weekend.”  James said it in such a matter-of-fact manner he could have been offering to teach Lewis how to knot a tie.  “I'll come over Sunday morning, and we can have a roast dinner.”  James put his beer on the coffee table, pulled his notepad and pen from his pocket, and started to make notes.  
  
“It’s not going to take all day to cook one meal, is it?”  Lewis's own drink had frozen halfway to his lips.  
 ****  
James studied him calmly.  “I believe the best way to learn to cook is to do it completely from scratch, and that means starting in the supermarket.  We'll go to Tesco's – or Sainsbury's or Waitrose, whichever you prefer – where you will choose a chicken and all the sides and other ingredients; then we'll come back here and I'll walk you through preparing a roast chicken dinner.  I'll help with things like peeling and chopping, and I'll even mix the stuffing and stuff the bird if need be, but mostly it’ll be you.”  James looked determined, and Lewis knew better than to query the wisdom of his plan.  “Then, you'll do it all again on the Christmas weekend, but bigger.  And with a turkey.”  James gave him a perceptive look.   “I know you.  You're a hands-on person, and once you've done something once it tends to stick.  Turkey, chicken, it’s a matter of size and timing, and, as you’ve said, I'll be there to help.  You'll be able to enjoy your Christmas and impress Lyn at the same time.”  
  
“I appreciate what you're offering, James, but it's not really going to be as straightforward as you're making it sound, is it?”  
  
“Have faith in yourself, Robbie.”  James unexpectedly reached forward and gave Lewis’s knee a quick squeeze.  “I do.”  Before Lewis could respond, James sat back in the couch and crossed his legs, one ankle resting on the opposite knee.  He looked around the flat as though seeing it for the first time.  “What about decorations?  We could do that one night this week, or later next week, if you prefer.”  
  
Distracted and caught off guard, Lewis took a moment to answer.  “I hadn’t thought about that.  I suppose it would–  Oh.  I don’t have any decorations, or a tree.  I haven’t had a reason to put either up in years.”  
  
James scribbled a quick note.  “Could you get away without decorating?”  
  
Lewis shook his head slowly.  “Lyn loves Christmas.  You should see her house at this time of year.  She would have put all hers up nearly a fortnight ago.  I suppose it’d be too much to shop for food and decorations on the same day?”  He looked hopefully at James.  
  
James looked appalled.  “Food shopping’s one thing... Robbie.  It’ll be less stressful to order the decorations online, and you could order a tree at the same time.”  
  
“Online?”  
  
James nodded.  “No crowds, delivered to the door, no going from shop to shop to find what you need.  It also minimises impulse buying.”  Lewis doubted James had ever bought anything on impulse.  “There’re a number of online Christmas shops you can look at.  If you order tomorrow, you’ll have them by the weekend.”  
  
Although he was uncertain, Lewis chose to trust James’s judgement.  “Okay, though I’m not sure about picking a tree sight unseen.  We used to go as a family when the kids were younger.  Loved the smell.”  
  
“You want a real tree?”  Now James looked uncertain.  
  
Lewis nodded.  “I do now.  If we’re doing Christmas, we’re doing it properly, and that means a real tree.”  
  
“Right.”  James made another note.   
  
Lewis smiled fondly at James’s bowed head.  “Reckon we could pick up a tree on the Saturday?  Do it and the decorations then.”   
  
James nodded, head still bowed as he finished writing.  “Make a weekend of it?”  
  
“Yes, why don’t we,” Lewis said firmly.  “So, what’s next?”  
  
James glanced at the notes he’d made.  “Write a shopping list for Sunday, measure the flat so we know how much tinsel and what size tree to buy, and you’ll need to allow time for gift shopping.”  
  
Lewis smiled.  “You can scratch the gifts part.  I’ve already got that sorted.”  
.  
.  
.  
It was close to midnight when Lewis crawled under the duvet.  James was already snoring softly in the other room, having fallen asleep within minutes.  Together, they’d completed a detailed and, Lewis felt, very extensive grocery list, and James had made a sketch of Lewis’s combined living/dining area, with all measurements carefully marked.  Lewis wasn’t sure if he was nervous, excited, or relieved.

 

* * *

 

After hours reviewing more CCTV, they took a well-earned, and overdue, lunch break mid-afternoon, retreating to their own office to do so.  James used the opportunity to show Lewis some of the online Christmas shops.  
  
Lewis wandered over, sandwich in hand, placed his free hand on the back of James’s chair, and leant into James’s shoulder, as he’d done countless times in the past.  As James switched from one screen to the other, Lewis huffed, “I don't know.  I mean, you can't really see how big they are, or if that's even the right colour.”  
  
James glanced up at him, the back of his head brushing against Lewis’s shirt.  “I would have thought ‘silver, three inch diameter’ was quite clear.”  
  
“What on earth are you talking about?”  Innocent was standing in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, with a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.  
  
“Decorations, ma’am,” Lewis explained.  “I don’t have any, and Lyn and the family are coming down for Christmas.  James says it’ll be easiest to buy them online.”  
  
James sat forward, breaking the contact with Lewis, and spun the monitor around.  Lewis noted the slight flush of colour in his cheeks and wondered why he looked guilty; they weren’t breaching the station’s fair-use policy in any way, and Laxton knew where they were.  Innocent peered at the screen.  She looked even more amused.  
  
“So you and James are shopping for Christmas decorations?  Don’t let that get around the station – next thing you know, the story’ll be you’re picking out china patterns.”  
  
She was gone before either of them could react.  
  
James slowly lowered his head to the desk.  “I’m sorry, sir.”  His words were muffled against the desk top.  
  
“No harm done, lad.”  Lewis patted him on the shoulder and headed back to his desk.  “But to be on the safe side, I think this should wait until after work.”  
  
“Agreed.”  James picked up his sandwich.  “Did you want to do it tonight?  Order the decorations, that is.”  
  
Lewis thought for a moment.  “How would you feel if I said, ‘you choose’?”  
  
“It’s your flat.”  
  
“You’re more... colour-coordinated than I am.”  
  
“I can choose whatever I like?”  James was looking intrigued.  “Even for the tree?”  
  
“Whatever you like,” Lewis confirmed with a grin, “because you’re going to help put them up as well; but, beware, if the flat ends up looking like a bomb went off in a tinsel factory, there's no present for you.”  
  
James laughed.  “I can assure you, it will be tasteful and co-ordinated.  I’ll get onto it as soon as I get home.”  
  
“Here.”  Lewis pulled his credit card from his wallet and held it up.  “I won't need it tonight.”  
  
James waved it away with a warm smile.  “Think of it as my gift to you.”  
  
“Thanks, man.”  
  
James ducked his head.  “Don't thank me yet.  You still have to buy and prepare Christmas dinner twice over.”

 

* * *

 

The decorations arrived on Thursday.  To ensure he received them, James had put the station down as the delivery address, and they were waiting at the main desk when they returned from lunch.  
  
Lewis eyed up the two large boxes.  “Are you planning on decorating half the station as well, sergeant?”  
  
“Hardly, sir.  Tinsel’s bulky; so are baubles.  Could you...?”  He passed one of the deceptively light boxes to Lewis, taking the second himself.  “Probably best to put these straight in the car.”  They headed back outside.  “It is a reasonable sized space we’ll be decorating, plus the tree, and you do want to please Lyn, don’t you?”  
  
“Uh, huh,” Lewis nodded.  He was now wondering if he should have been involved in the selection.  They walked through the car park entrance.  “‘Tasteful and coordinated,’ you said.”  
  
“And it will be.  You do trust me?”  
  
 _With my life._   “Aye, I do.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

By Friday afternoon,Lewis’s anticipation had visibly grown.  It was the most animated James had ever known him to be over the holidays, and he found himself sharing Lewis’s excitement and nervousness.  He’d never admit it out loud to anyone, but he also found it more than a little endearing.  
  
James wondered how Lewis would view James’s childhood Christmases.  For most of his childhood, there had only been him and his father, and his father usually worked on the estate on Christmas Day: “Horses don’t recognise the calendar, boy,” he’d said.  Together, they would attend Midnight Mass in the Crevecoeur chapel, along with the Mortmaignes and the rest of the families on the estate.  From a very young age, James had found joy in the service and, when he was old enough, he’d been thrilled to be asked to join the small choir.  Christmas Day would see James by himself at Lodge Farm – which would be treeless and free of decorations, as his father had “no time for such fuss and nonsense” – until it was time to attend the employee and tenants’ party in the evening.  That part was fun, for the few hours he was allowed to stay.  Once he went away to school, the school’s traditions and celebrations brought another dimension to the holiday for him, but it could never have been called a family celebration.  
  
This year, however, being Lewis’s guest would be the closest James had ever been to a real family Christmas.  He sincerely hoped he’d fit in.  
.  
.  
.  
Lewis shrugged into his coat.  “Time to go, James?”  
  
With a grunt of agreement, James shut down his computer and surveyed his cleared desk.  He couldn’t remember the last time it looked so empty.  It felt surprisingly good.  
  
“Did you want me to pick up a takeaway on my way over?” James asked as he stood and gathered his coat.  
  
With a full weekend planned, they’d agreed James would stay at Lewis’s for the weekend, so both jobs could be done properly.  It would also allow them an early start on the tree hunt.  
  
“Got that sorted, thanks, though a nice ale wouldn’t go astray,” Lewis replied.  “You just bring what you need for a couple of days, and whatever you want to leave there for the future.  I haven’t forgotten; I’ve even emptied a shelf in the bathroom cabinet for you.  Oh, and the step ladder,” he added quickly.  
  
“It’s sitting by my front door, next to my bag.  Seven still fine with you?”  
  
Lewis nodded, and they walked out to the car park in a tired, comfortable silence, occasionally bumping elbows.  James was enjoying the unusual sensation of looking forward to both his time off and Christmas.  The plan for tonight was dinner, some telly to relax, and sleep.  They were going to be quite busy over the next two days.  
.  
.  
.  
After eating, James went through the kitchen cupboards, setting aside the various pans and dishes he thought they’d need on Sunday.  He decided to add a turkey-sized roasting pan to the shopping list.  
  
“You changed the list?” James commented, a small frown creasing his brow.  Items had been crossed out on the left side of the notepaper and rewritten in a different order on the right.  
  
“Didn’t change it, just rearranged it a bit.”  Lewis wandered over from the sink to the table where James was sitting.  “You had everything out of order.”  
  
“It wasn’t in any set order.  I wrote items down as we thought of them.”  
  
“Exactly.”  Lewis tapped the paper.  “Now it’s in order, by aisle, from the entrance.”  
  
James looked at him with a bemused smile.  “You’ve memorised Tesco’s layout?”  
  
“I’m a copper.  I observe.  Anything that makes food shopping quicker is a good thing in my book.  Are you one of those who wanders up and down the aisles, running back and forth when you realise you’ve forgotten things?”  
  
“No, sir.  I shop online.”  
  
“Smart arse.  Why couldn’t we have done that, then?  And I told you – it’s Robbie.”  
  
“Because, s– Robbie–”  _God, why is it so hard to use his name?_   “–I thought you didn’t like the concept.”  
  
“Well... no...  I like to see what I’ve bought _before_ it ends up in the kitchen, but I might have made an exception for this.”  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind if there’s a next time.”  
  
“Mind you do.”   
  
They looked at each other and laughed.  
  
“Right!”  Lewis clapped his hands together loudly, sending Monty scooting across the floor for the safety of the couch.  “If you’re done, there’s telly to be watched.”

 

* * *

 

James bit back a sigh as Lewis rejected yet another tree.  He had never realised it could be such a difficult choice.  He’d expected to be pointed towards a grove of six-foot high trees and that would be that.  But, no.  They were too wide, too asymmetrical, too skinny, too sparse, too dense, or they didn’t smell right.  James was dying for a coffee and cigarette; somehow he’d managed to leave his lighter in the flat.  
  
“That’s the one.”  
  
It took James a moment to register, firstly, that it was Lewis’s voice, and secondly, that it was triumphant.  He examined the tree Lewis was standing in front of.  He wanted to understand how this one was different to the last twenty or so.  He couldn’t.  But he accepted that Lewis could and, as it was his tree, that was what counted.  He returned Lewis’s happy grin.  
  
They’d borrowed Lewis’s neighbour’s estate car to transport the tree home.  After folding down the seats, the tree took up the entire passenger’s side of the vehicle, and James had to ride home in the seat behind Lewis.  He was thankful they didn’t have too far to travel, as one of the branches was threatening to come loose from the netting it had been secured in.  It would strike him across the ribs if it did, and that was going to hurt.  As he contemplated the bound tree, he began to have doubts about it fitting into the space Lewis had chosen, and about the two of them getting it out of the vehicle without mishap.  
  
He needn’t have worried on either count.  Lewis’s neighbour helped them with the tree, more out of concern for the vehicle’s interior, James thought, than a true desire to lug a six-foot Nordmann Fir through to Lewis’s flat.  Once inside, they manoeuvred the tree to the designated corner.  James held the tree while Lewis attached the stand.  Seeing the wrapped tree in place, James conceded it just might fit.  Once the net was removed, he was in awe of Lewis’s ability to choose the exact tree for the space.  
  
“How did you do that?  I...”  
  
“Didn’t think it would fit?”  James nodded sheepishly.  “Years of practice and a bit of luck.  This one would have been fairly easy to trim if it was too wide, so I was willing to take the gamble.  Shall we make a start?”  
  
James nodded.  “Tree, then lunch, then the rest of the room?”  
  
“That’ll work.”  
.  
.  
.  
The tree looked bloody impressive, if James said so himself.  Lewis looked beyond pleased.  
  
“Our Lyn’s going to love that.  I knew I was right to let you chose the decorations.  I’d never have chosen purple.  Red, green, silver, and gold – the traditional colours, that’s all I would’ve picked.  I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for the rest of the flat.”  
  
James felt a swelling of pride at Lewis’s praise.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  
  
Lewis poked around in the box of decorations.  “Don’t suppose you ordered any of that fake mistletoe?”  
  
“I didn’t see any.”  It was a half-lie.  James really hadn’t see any, but only because he hadn’t looked.  Mistletoe stirred up memories he’d tried to bury, of stolen kisses followed by snickers and whispers, teasing, spiteful rumours, and shattered hopes.  His second Christmas at Cambridge was the last time James had stood under any mistletoe.  He couldn’t explain any of that to Lewis, not here, and most certainly not now.  
  
Lewis was looking at a box of lights and hadn’t noticed James’s discomfort.  “Ah, doesn’t matter,” Lewis said lightly.  “It’s just going to be the five of us, so there’s probably not much point.”  
  
“No,” James replied, forcing a note of cheerfulness into his voice.  “I suppose not.”  He felt his balance returning when Lewis closed up the box and moved towards the kitchen to start lunch.  
  
Over their meal, James outlined his plan for the rest of the decorating.  They’d start with getting all the tinsel in place, and build from there.  
.  
.  
.  
James’s plan involved treating the kitchen and living area as two separate rooms, each to be decorated separately.  They hung tinsel around the living room’s perimeter, attaching it to the small removable hooks James had put in place while Lewis had prepared the sandwiches for lunch.  It marked a perfect rectangle, with the main ceiling light at its centre.  Lewis positioned himself on the step ladder under the light, and worked to attach the ends of four separate garlands to the centre of the ceiling.  James gathered up the end of the first garland and positioned his step ladder in the corner.  He repeated the process for each garland.  
  
“How’s that?” Lewis asked, as James moved towards the last corner.  
  
James glanced up to see Lewis pivoting carefully at the top of the step ladder.  
  
“Should you really be–  ROBBIE!  
  
It happened in slow motion.  
  
As James watched, Lewis’s neck brushed against the tinsel.  Startled, Lewis jerked away, causing the ladder to rock.  When he tried to get his balance, Lewis stepped backwards... into air.  


 


	4. Chapter 4

Lewis tried to raise a hand to brush away the hair tickling his brow, but his limbs felt so heavy.  When warm fingers took hold of his own, he lazily opened his eyes.  Gentle, worried, eyes met his gaze; familiar, loving eyes that seemed to look into his soul.  He belonged here.  
  
He frowned as a ringing rose in the background.  It hurt.  Why did it hurt?  Bloody phone, he thought, as the ringing persisted.  
  
“M’sorry, pet,” Lewis murmured as he turned away.  
  
“Robbie?”  The voice, familiar and comforting, seemed so distant... and afraid.  
  
Why was the room... glistening?  Was that... tinsel?  That meant something, but he was suddenly too tired to think.  His eyes fluttered closed and darkness rushed in, but a faint shimmering remained.

 

* * *

 

Lewis blinked against the stark light.  Christ, his head hurt.  Everything hurt.  
  
“Why, hello, Mr Lewis.”  
  
He turned his face towards the unfamiliar voice, his body screaming in protest at the movement.  
  
“Probably best if you try to stay still, sir,” the voice quietly, but firmly, ordered.  Somewhere nearby, a chair scraped along the floor.  
  
“Where...?” Lewis croaked out.  Was that really his voice?  He looked at the face above him.  _Is she a nurse?_  
  
“You’re in the John Radcliffe.  You’ve had an accident, Mr Lewis.  There’s someone here who wants to see you.”  Lewis saw and heard her smile, and a welcome, if tense, face appeared over her shoulder.  
  
“James.”  A sense that everything would be all right washed over him.  James sat on the edge of the bed when the nurse moved away.  “What am I doing here? What happened?”  
  
“What do you remember?”  James’s voice was low and reassuring.  
  
“Tinsel... and I heard Val.”  
  
“Sir?  Robbie?”  
  
“I had a dream.  I was...”  Lewis closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the face in his dream became clearer.  It wasn’t Val.  It was James.  It didn’t make sense, but Lewis didn’t have the ability to think about it now.  “What happened, James?”  
  
“You fell off a step ladder.  You'll recover, but I'm afraid your coffee table will never be the same again.”  
  
“I fell?”  
  
James explained.  
  
“I... I don’t remember that.  I remember we set up the tree.  It’s a beautiful tree.”  
  
James smiled briefly, the worry lines returning quickly.  “The doctor said there may be some loss of memory.  It’s normal when you’ve had... a blow to the head.”  
  
James’s hands were folded on his lap and Lewis tried to reach for them, seeking reassurance.  His left arm felt heavier than he thought it should and he couldn’t lift it.  
  
“What the hell…?”  He tried to sit up and James quickly placed his hand in the centre of Lewis’s chest, gently but firmly holding him down.  
  
“Don’t.”  James removed his hand, taking hold of Lewis’s left elbow and fingers instead.  He carefully raised Lewis’s arm to reveal a cast.  
  
“What did I do?” Lewis whispered.  He reached across with his right hand and brushed his fingers against the cast, simply to confirm it was real.  
  
James lowered Lewis’s arm, took a deep breath, and listed Lewis’s injuries.  “You have a broken left wrist and wrenched shoulder, four stitches above your left eye from hitting the coffee table, and extensive bruising down your left side and back.  You’re going to be in here at least overnight, I’m afraid, possibly longer.”  
  
Lewis exhaled slowly.  “Well that’s Christmas buggered,” he huffed, disappointed.   
  
“Why?”  James looked perplexed.  “You should be out well before Christmas Eve, and you won’t be bedridden.  The decorations are nearly done, and I can take care of dinner on the day.  There isn’t much else to worry about.”  
  
Lewis took in James’s earnest expression.  “That's very generous of you, James, but I can't ask you to do that.”  
  
“You haven't.  I want to do it.”  
  
James laid his hand over Lewis's right hand where it now rested on his stomach.  Lewis fleetingly thought he should try to move his hand, but he liked the warmth.  It was comforting, and it was...  he had a feeling of déjà vu.  James’s words cut across his thoughts.  
  
“I have the list, I know what you wanted to do and where everything is, and I’m on leave.”  
  
Lewis fought with his own stubbornness.  He prided himself on his independence.  So, he realised, did James, and James wouldn’t do anything he thought would undermine that.  James also understood how important this Christmas had become for Lewis.  “Thanks, man.”  Another thought struck him.  “I'll have to let Lyn know what’s happened,” he muttered.  “If she arrives and finds me in a cast, and I didn't say anything, it won't be the merriest of Christmases.”  
  
James nodded slowly.  “When will you call her?”  
  
Lewis considered the question. It wasn't as easy as it should have been, as he was distracted.  He wondered if James was aware he'd moved his hand, curling his fingers around so he was essentially holding Lewis's hand. Lewis was tempted to turn his hand palm up to hold James's hand, but was afraid of spooking him.  _Spooking_ him _?  This should be spooking_ me _,_ Lewis thought _.  Why isn't it?_   Lewis exhaled slowly.  
  
“When I’m home.”  
  
“Would you like me to call her on your behalf?” James asked hesitantly, his brows drawing closer together.  
  
“Thanks, lad, but it’d be better coming from me.”   
  
“I’ll let Innocent know what’s happened,” James stated.  
  
“Why does she need to know?”  In the back of his head Lewis knew there was a reason, but he couldn’t articulate it to himself.  
  
“She’ll need to adjust the roster for January, at the very least.  That cast will, in all likelihood, be on for at least four weeks, maybe longer.  The doctor will probably recommend desk duties until it’s off.”  
  
Lewis scowled and huffed.  That made sense.  God, he hated being desk bound.  “Yeah, go on, then.”  
  
A light knock at the door signalled the arrival of Lewis’s doctor.  Lewis noted with interest that James didn’t move, nor did he release Lewis’s hand.  The doctor confirmed Lewis would need to stay in hospital for several days.  He’d taken quite a solid blow to the head, and the doctor wanted him to have a CAT scan, “to be on the safe side, Mr Lewis”.  Lewis would also have to have his wrist replastered, once the swelling had reduced and they’d had the opportunity to reassess the break.  
  
The doctor left them and, wearying, Lewis closed his eyes and sank into the pillow.  
  
“I’d better go and let you rest,” James murmured.  
  
Lewis felt James’s hand slip away, and without thinking he grasped for James’s fingers, giving them a quick squeeze.  “Thanks for everything, lad.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” James whispered, and he was gone.  
.  
.  
.  
It was after nine in the evening by the time James got back to Lewis’s flat.  Looking at the heavily damaged coffee table, James was amazed and relieved Lewis hadn’t been more severely injured.  He wasn’t looking forward to the conversation with Innocent.  She may not say it, but she’d hold James at least partly responsible for letting Lewis up an unsupported ladder; James blamed himself, so why wouldn’t she?  James doubted the table was repairable and considered bringing his own coffee table over, just until Lewis’s could be replaced.  Though James was tired, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, not yet, and decided he’d keep working on the decorations until he was ready.  He bent down to pick up the end of the tinsel garland he’d dropped as Lewis had fallen.  A movement from the tree caught his eye and James stumbled backwards in surprise when the tree blinked at him.   
  
“Bloody hell!  Monty!”  The cat meowed and raised his head slightly from the branch he’d perched himself on.  With minimal swearing and scratches, James managed to remove Monty from the branch without upsetting the decorations or the tree.  Monty bolted towards the bedrooms when James put him on the floor.  
  
James fixed the tinsel in place, and then sat down with the box of decorations.  He picked up the small centrepiece he’d chosen for the table, and turned it over in his hands.  He looked at his own fingers and pictured them around Lewis’s.  
  
When James realised he had taken hold of Lewis’s hand in the hospital, he’d panicked slightly, all too aware he might have given himself away in his worry for Lewis.  When Lewis hadn’t reacted, he’d convinced himself it was because Lewis hadn’t noticed.  The swiftness with which Lewis reached for him as he’d gone to leave said otherwise.  
  
 _Don’t read more into the gesture than you need to, Hathaway.  Remember he was probably on tramadol or some other opioid, and concussed._  
  
One thing James couldn’t allow himself to do was think of Lewis as Robbie.  He knew if he gave in to that privilege, the chances of revealing his true feelings would dangerously increase.  Giving himself a shake, James selected the remaining tinsel and set to work in the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

James rang the hospital in the morning.  He was told Lewis had had a restless night and they were keeping him under close observation because of the head injury.  The CAT scan was scheduled for the afternoon, and would give them a clearer picture.  
  
The nurse reassured him Lewis wasn’t in any danger, but it “would perhaps be better if you waited until tomorrow to visit.  We’ve had to increase his pain medication and he’ll be drowsy until such time as the doctor decides to decrease the dose.”  
  
Frustrated and concerned, James finished the last of the decorations, and cleaned Lewis’s flat from top to bottom, stopping twice to remove Monty from the tree.  
  
When he was done, he started cleaning out and reorganising the kitchen cupboards.

 

* * *

 

James rang Innocent first thing Monday morning to explain the situation.  While she was duly concerned for Lewis, and asked James to pass on her commiserations, James heard the note of annoyance in her voice.  They were on leave and they’d still managed to give her a headache.  _At least we’re consistent_ , he thought with a shrug.  He called Laura shortly after.  She’d already heard the news through a colleague at the hospital, and lightly scolded James for not telling her earlier.  
  
James’s day didn’t improve greatly when he then contacted the hospital and was told Lewis wouldn’t be up to having visitors until after six.  It was also made very clear if he arrived any earlier, he’d be sent outside to wait.  
  
“There’s nothing to be concerned about, Mr Hathaway.  The CAT scan revealed no brain injury; however, the doctor has elected to reset Mr Lewis’s wrist this morning and he’ll need some time to recover from that.  It’s in Mr Lewis’s best interests to get as much rest as possible now.  However, I can inform you he’ll probably be discharged sometime Wednesday.”  
  
It was some consolation knowing when Lewis would be home, and James took some comfort in being able to make plans around that.  
.  
.  
.  
James paused in the doorway to Lewis’s room, and was relieved to see him sitting up and talking with the nurse.  
  
“Good evening.”  James stepped into the room, and placed a small holdall next to the bedside cabinet.  Lewis turned carefully towards him – James imagined he was quite stiff – and James stopped dead.  Heavy bruising marked the side of Lewis’s face, bruising which hadn’t been visible when James last saw Lewis.  James’s horror must have shown on his face.  
  
“S’okay, lad.  It looks worse than it is.  There’s nothing broken and the swelling’s gone down.”  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to...  How do you feel otherwise?”  James pulled a chair close to the bed.  
  
“I’m still aching, but that probably goes without saying.  And this thing’s itching like buggery.”  He raised the cast a few inches off the bed.  “Mostly, though, I’m a bit disappointed.  I was looking forward to you teaching me to roast a chicken.”  
  
James huffed a small laugh and smiled fondly.  “The offer to teach you will always be open.  Once your wrist’s better, I’ll happily teach you to cook a chicken, and whatever else you want; and if I don’t know how to do it, we can learn together.”  
  
“Yeah?”  James nodded.  “Anything I like?”  
  
“Anything.”  
  
“What’s in the bag?”  Lewis pointed at the holdall.  
  
“Pyjamas, some clothes, and my iPod – I’ve put some audio books on there I thought you might like.  I’ll show you how to use it before I go.”  
  
“That was thoughtful of you.  It’ll be good to get into clean pyjamas; I’ll get one of the nurses to help me later.”  
  
James noticed Lewis’s growing beard, the unfriendly lighting in the room highlighting the flecks of grey across his face.  Without thinking, James lightly flicked a finger across Lewis's chin.  “If you ask the nurses nicely, they can give you a shave.”  Suddenly aware of what he’d done, James clasped his hands tightly together in his lap.  
  
Lewis's only visible reaction was to rub the fledgling beard with his unencumbered hand, but he didn't look directly at James.  “Aye, Laura offered to do it tomorrow morning.”  
  
“Laura?  Dr Hobson?” Caught off-guard, James failed to hide his surprise.   _She never mentioned she’d visited, or was going to visit._  
  
“Not Laura Hobson, ya daft sod.”  Lewis gave him a look that said 'what's going on up there?'  “Laura's the nurse who’s been on in the mornings.  It's all first names now, you know, lad.  None of this 'Sister this' or 'Matron that' anymore.”  He chuckled softly.  “Could you really see our Laura standing at the bedside giving me a shave?”  
  
James didn't trust his voice not to betray his relief, so he shook his head, looking, he hoped, suitably corrected.  
  
Lewis rubbed his palm over his chin and cheek again, the soft rasping a not unpleasant sound as far as James was concerned.  “As I started to say, _Nurse_ Laura offered to 'tidy me up a bit' now the swelling’s down, but I passed.  I haven't had a beard for a while and thought it might be nice for a change.”  
  
James knew better than to say he didn’t like beards.  That would definitely reveal too much.  He coughed to cover his hesitation.  
  
“The decorating’s finished, and I’ve cleaned up the flat.  I was going to show you some photos, but I think I’ll keep it as a surprise for Wednesday.”  
  
“Oh, aye?  What have you done?”  Lewis raised an unbruised eyebrow.  
  
“You’ll see.”  James teased, and finally began to relax.  Everything was going to be okay.


	5. Chapter 5

James arrived as a nurse was helping Lewis into the jumper James had brought earlier.  
  
“Now, Mr Lewis, are you going to be warm enough once you’re out of here?” she asked.  
  
“He will be with this,” James said, and held up the heavy coat he’d brought with him.  He also had a pair of Lewis’s boots in a bag.  
  
“James.”  Lewis gave him a bright smile.  The bruising had begun to fade – James thought it would be almost gone by Christmas Eve – and the cut above his eye was healing well.  He was still moving carefully, and turned his whole body towards James, not just his head.  
  
“Ready to go home?”  
  
Lewis nodded.  He looked relieved.  James held the coat out to the nurse, who in turn waved towards Lewis.  James adjusted the coat in his hands and held the left sleeve opening towards Lewis.  
  
“You’ll need to take care with the wrist,” the nurse instructed, addressing James before turning to face Lewis, “and if you experience any pain or discomfort, Mr Lewis, you should speak up immediately.  You need to take care of your shoulder and not overstretch.”  She nodded approvingly as Lewis slipped on the coat with a minimum of fuss.  
  
“Very good,” Lewis remarked.  “Take me home, James.  I’m dying for a decent cuppa.”  
.  
.  
.  
James took care not to fuss when Lewis got in and out of the car, but he made sure he was close enough to step in if Lewis did have any difficulties.  He opened the door to the flat and ushered Lewis in.  Monty came trotting up, rubbing himself hard against Lewis’s leg.  
  
“He’s missed you,” James murmured.  _I’ve missed you._  
  
“He’s going to make me break me bloody neck if he doesn’t move away.”  Lewis’s voice had a tired edge.  James dropped the holdall, and scooped Monty up and out of the way, then he placed his free hand lightly against the small of Lewis’s back, with the intention of guiding Lewis to the couch.  James nearly knocked Lewis over when Lewis stopped in his tracks.  
  
“Oh, my God.  James, what...?”  
  
James’s stomach sank.  “You hate it.”  
  
“Eh?  No!  It’s...  
  
“An explosion in a tinsel factory?”  James’s voice was flat.  
  
“No, you daft sod.  Will you let me finish?”  Lewis glared at him with exasperation.  
  
“Sorry.”  James ducked his head.  
  
“I’m trying to say I’m impressed.  It’s beyond anything I expected.  Was everything here in those two boxes?”  
  
James felt himself blushing at the praise.  “Mostly.  I finished up what we started on Saturday, using up everything.  There were some gaps, so I picked up some extra bits and pieces.  I had some time to kill,” he said quietly.  
  
“Some bits?”  Lewis pointed at the couch.  “They're not my cushions, for starters.”  
  
“They are actually, and you should be using them now.”  He gradually nudged Lewis forward, and put Monty down on the armchair as they made their way past it.  “They’re new covers.”  
  
“You got new cushion covers?  Just for Christmas?”  
  
“They’re reversible; the other side is far less Christmassy, so they were a bargain really... two for one.”  James breathed a sigh of relief when Lewis was finally sitting down.  
  
Lewis looked around the room again from his new position.  “The coffee table?  That’s...?”  
  
“Mine?  Yes.  I’ll take you shopping for a new one after Christmas.  Put your feet up, and I’ll make that tea you wanted.”  
  
“Thanks, man.”  
  
“Are you hungry?  I can make sandwiches.”  
  
“No.  Thanks.  I’ve not much of an appetite at the moment.  Bugger!”  Lewis’s eyes flew open wide.  “The bloody tree just moved!”  
  
“That’ll be Monty.”  James said with a resigned sigh.  The cat popped his head out between two large baubles.  “He scared the crap out of me the first time I saw him.  Fortunately the base is doing its job, and the tree itself has held firm.”  
  
When it was ready, James brought the tea to the table.  He’d added a small plate with fruit cake and chocolate HobNobs in the hope of tempting Lewis to eat something.  
  
Lewis sighed with pleasure after his first mouthful of tea.  “That’s good.  I’m sure the hospital uses old dishwater.”  To James’s delight, Lewis also took a piece of cake.  
  
They sat quietly, drinking their tea.  Monty eventually came out of the tree, and attempted to squeeze into the non-existent gap between their legs, soon giving up and curling up on Lewis’s lap.  
  
“S’pose I’d better call Lyn.”  From his tone, James suspected Lewis would rather face an armed murderer.  
.  
.  
.  
After Lewis said, “I’ve had a bit of a fall,” James deduced the conversation went rapidly downhill.  From what he could hear, it appeared Lyn was insisting on coming down early to look after him.  Uncharacteristically impulsive, James beckoned for the phone.   
  
“Hang on, pet.  James wants to talk to you.”  
  
“Hi, Lyn.  I just want to reassure you I’ll be staying with your father until he’s able to manage by himself.  If anything does happen that I’m not equipped to deal with, Dr Hobson’s only a phone call away.  There’s no need for you to be worried, or to change your plans.  I’m looking forward to meeting you.”  Lewis was staring at him open-mouthed as he said goodbye to Lyn and then handed the phone back.  
  
“Aye, love, that’s me sergeant.”  
  
“Yeah, James is on leave as well.”  
  
“We’ll both go back to work at the same time.  It’s me left wrist that’s broken.  I can still write.”  
  
“No.  James said Innocent’s taken us both off the roster until the doctor signs me off as ‘fit for duty’.  
  
“Yes, love.”  Lewis rolled his eyes at James.  “James’ll be staying here with me.  I won’t be by meself at any time.  Okay?”  
  
“I love you too, pet.  Can’t wait to see all of you again.  Bye, Lyn.”  
  
Lewis put the phone down slowly on the couch and stared at James.  
  
“Have I just lied to me daughter?”  
  
James frowned.  “I didn’t lie to her,” he said in a low murmur, “so how could you?”  
  
“You’re really willing to stay here?  For the whole time?”  
  
James busied himself tidying up the tea things.  “I am.  I have been.  I went back to my place for more clothes and the table, but I’ve been staying here.  I wanted everything to be ready for you and Lyn... and Monty needed company, too.”  
  
On hearing his name, the cat raised his head and meowed.  
  
Lewis scratched under the cat’s chin.  “You never mentioned it.”  
  
James took a slow, deep breath.  “Your doctor pulled me aside before I left the hospital on Saturday evening, and said she’d be unwilling to discharge you unless you had someone at home who could keep an eye on you.  She suspected you were, and I’m quoting now, ‘fiercely independent and unlikely to readily admit if you needed physical assistance’.  I assured her you wouldn’t be by yourself.”  
  
“That’s above and beyond, lad.  Thank you.”  
  
“For a colleague, perhaps.  Not for a friend.”  James resisted the urge to take Lewis’s hand.  
  
Lewis yawned and gave a small shiver.  
  
“Are you okay, s– Robbie?  Would you like to lie down in your bed instead?”  
  
“Might be a good idea.”  
  
James helped Lewis to his feet.  
.  
.  
.  
Lewis slept for four hours, and felt a different man for it.  He’d slept in the hospital, much of it drug-induced, but he’d never slept well in a strange bed.  It was bloody good to be home.  He could hear James moving around in the kitchen, and the aroma slowly filling the room was making him very hungry.  He was still overwhelmed by James’s generosity and care, and considered himself a very fortunate man.  
  
He sat up slowly and was pleased when the anticipated dizziness didn’t occur.  Getting to his feet, he headed for the kitchen.  
  
James smiled brightly when he saw him.  Lewis concluded he must look as good as he felt.  
  
“Are you hungry?  Dinner’s ready if you are.”  
  
“Actually, I am.  It was the smell that got me out of bed.”  Lewis sat down at the table.  
  
“Would you like a drink?” James asked, opening the fridge.  
  
“I’d love one, but I’d best not.”  
  
James turned around slowly.  “Oh.”  His voice was filled with unasked questions.  
  
“I’m all right, James, I simply don’t want to do anything that might make me lose my balance.  Between spending the last few days in bed, and the painkillers they’ve given me... ah, s’not worth the risk, is it?”  
  
“No.  It isn’t,” James replied thoughtfully.  “And if I’m going ensure your recovery is as trouble-free as possible, I ought to stay sharp as well.  Tea or coffee?”  
  
Lewis was about to protest, but James was right.  If, God forbid, something else were to happen, Lewis would want James at one hundred per cent.  “Tea, please, James.”  
  
James took two mugs from the cupboard, and put the kettle on to boil, before turning his attention back to the oven.  
  
Dinner was a simple pasta bake.  Lewis thought it was one of the best things he’d eaten in a while.  He wondered if James would cook every night, and that made him think about the coming weekend.  
  
“When will you get the Christmas shopping in?”  
  
“I got most of it this morning before I came to pick you up.  I’ll still need to go out on Friday and get the vegetables, but otherwise everything’s in.”  James chuckled.  “Your ordered list made it easy.  The turkey’s at my place – there was more room in my fridge – and I’ll bring that over Christmas morning, just as we planned.”  
  
“What did you decide about the stuffing?”  Lyn had come through with Val’s recipe.  
  
“It’s all under control.”  
  
Lewis relaxed as he watched James move with confidence around the kitchen.  As fond as he was of James, Lewis had never put him in the category of ‘carer and nurturer’.  He realised now that had been a mistake on his part.  He also suspected James would only show this side of himself to a select few.


	6. Chapter 6

James vacated and tidied the spare room first thing Christmas Eve morning.  Lyn and the family were expected to arrive mid-morning.  
  
The bruising on Lewis’s face had faded significantly, the stitches above his eye had come out, and he was moving more freely.  James hoped it was enough for Lyn not to be too worried.  Lewis was concerned her Christmas break would be spoiled if she was fussing over him, and James was determined that wasn’t going to happen.  
  
James himself was sporting long scratches on his forearms, the result of clipping Monty’s claws.  To say the cat was unimpressed was an understatement, but James had persevered.  Monty was generally a very relaxed cat, but he had no experience with babies, and Lewis was also uncertain how he’d respond to an additional two adults in the flat.  
  
James was checking the bathroom again when Lewis’s voice carried through from the living area.  
  
“Will you stop fussing, man?  Lyn’s not going to do a full inspection when she gets here.”  
  
James stuck his head out the door.  “You know that for a fact, do you?”  
  
“James, they’re coming down to spend Christmas, not to determine if you’re fit to look out for me.  Relax.”  
  
James wandered over and dropped into the couch next to Lewis.  “I just want everything to be... right.”  
  
“And it will be, James.  We’ll have a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and each other for company.  That’s all we need.  Family.  That’s what Christmas is about.”  
  
 _Family.  I’m included as family._   James was lost for words.  
  
A sharp rapping on the door broke his reverie.  He jumped up, and turned to help Lewis up.  
  
Lewis answered the door, while James hung back in the living area.  There was a flurry of delighted cries, hugs, kisses, greetings, and handshakes.  Lyn’s ability to check Lewis over was hampered as she was carrying her young son in her arms, but she was soon satisfied.  Lewis waved James over.  
  
“This is James.  James, meet Lyn, Tim and Matthew.”  
  
Whatever James was expecting from Lyn, it wasn’t the gentle kiss she placed on his cheek.  
  
“I’m so pleased to meet you at last.  Thank you for staying with Dad.”  
  
She passed Matthew to her father, and then enfolded James in a hug.  
  
“I can see you’ve been good for him,” she whispered in his ear.  “It makes me happy to know Dad’s not lonely.”  
  
James, uncertain how to respond, quietly hugged her back.  Lewis picked that moment to encourage everyone through to the living area.  
  
Lyn paused and looked up at the hallway ceiling, then turned to Tim.  “I told you he wouldn’t have any.”  
  
Tim glanced up.  “I’ll get it in a minute.”  
  
Lewis, cradling Matthew, had been distracted.  “Get what?”  
  
“The mistletoe, Dad,” Lyn replied patiently.  
  
“Mistletoe?”  
  
James’s stomach felt like lead.  The last thing he wanted in the flat was mistletoe.  If he were to get caught underneath with Lewis, even if only he kissed Lewis’s cheek, he feared his dreams – his fantasies – as hopeless as they were, would be forever tainted by his past experiences.  Nor did he want to find himself in a position of deliberately avoiding Lewis, or anyone, for that matter, if they chanced to be underneath at the same time.  That would raise questions he doubted he could answer honestly.  He listened hopefully as Lewis protested.  
  
“We don’t need that, love.  It’s not like the old house; there won’t be a stream of visitors over the next couple of days.”  
  
“I know that, Dad, but it was mum’s tradition, and one I like to keep.”  
  
Lewis’s body language changed and James recognised Lyn had won.  They were going to have mistletoe.  He would have to be very careful while Lyn was here.  Thankfully, they would be moving on to Aunt Cissy’s, so it wouldn’t be here for the whole week.  
.  
.  
.  
Lewis had been right about Lyn’s response to the decorations.  She’d become almost giddy as she’d taken in the tree, and Matthew was mesmerised by the lights.  
  
“Next year, James, d’you fancy coming up to Manchester with Dad and doing our place?  Please.”  She’d smiled brightly at James, and Lewis didn’t think he’d ever seen James look so pleased, either.  
  
Lewis couldn’t have asked for a better first meeting between the people he cared most for.  
  
After lunch, they settled down in the living area.  Lewis had closed the curtains against the already darkening day, and the only light inside was from the tree and the fairy lights.  
  
James, Lewis, and Lyn, with Matthew, occupied the couch.  Tim, who’d swiftly been adopted by Monty, was half asleep in the armchair, with the sleeping cat on his lap.  
  
Lyn smiled at James in a way that made Lewis wary.  Though Lyn had a heart of gold, Lewis was well aware of her mischievous streak.   
  
She bounced Matthew on her knee.  “I think Matthew would like a cuddle from his Uncle James.”  
  
James’s eyes widened with delight, Lewis noted, not the alarm he would have expected.  
  
“Uncle James?” James said softly.  
  
Lyn looked a little uncertain.  “It doesn’t have to be ‘uncle’, if you don’t–”  
  
“‘Uncle’ is lovely, thank you,” James replied, smiling happily.  He reached across Lewis and skilfully took Matthew from Lyn.  Lyn watched him fondly.  Lewis was astonished.  
  
“Since when are you such a dab hand with a bairn?” Lewis asked, seeing yet another hidden side to James.  He looked perfectly at ease.  
  
James cradled Matthew closer.  “You're not the only one who’s had experience with babies.”  
  
“Oh, really?”  Lewis's eyebrows arched slowly.  “Is there something you've neglected to mention all these years?”  
  
James looked up and gave Lewis a lopsided grin.  “No.  No secret children to report,” he murmured as he gently rocked Matthew.  
  
Lewis held his gaze.  James shifted the baby in his arms slightly, and leant back into the couch.  
  
“When I was a DC, I was involved with a domestic violence case.  The young mother had two toddlers – twin boys – and a newborn.  I spent quite a bit of time back and forth at the house and had a lot of contact with all three children.  I discovered babies were less frightening than I'd convinced myself they would be.”  
  
Lyn was watching him curiously.  “Would you like children of your own one day?”  
  
James shook his head.  “No,” he answered simply.  
  
To Lewis’s relief, Lyn seemed to understand it was best to leave it at that.  
.  
.  
.  
Dinner was fish and chips.  James and Tim went out to get it, and Lewis and Lyn spent some quiet time together.  
  
After dinner, there was some good natured arguing over what to watch on telly, and they eventually settled on an old movie.  
  
When Matthew cried out, Lyn went to settle him down again.  James chose that opportunity to take his leave.  
  
“I’m off – Mass,” he explained to Tim.  “I’ll sleep at my flat tonight; I should be back around seven with the turkey, etcetera, and to make breakfast.  I’ve got a cool box for anything that doesn’t fit in the fridge in the morning.”  
  
“Drive carefully,” Lewis said.  “A lot of idiots on the road and that weather won’t help.”  
  
“I will.  Good night.”  
  
James was approaching the front door as Lyn came out of the bedroom.  As he stepped under the mistletoe, she took hold of his elbow, stretched up on tiptoe, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.  
  
James, caught completely off-guard, automatically kissed her back.  
  
“Oi, you're spoken for, missy,” Tim called out good-naturedly.  
  
“Leave the lad alone, pet,” Lewis said with a laugh.  
  
Grinning, Lyn responded quickly, “If you're so jealous, get over here and do it yourself.”  James knew she was addressing Tim, but he couldn’t stop himself looking at Lewis, to see his reaction.  Lewis was laughing either at or along with Tim, James wasn’t quite sure.  James looked away quickly when Lewis looked at him, his expression changing to one of curiosity.  James wondered what Lewis had seen on his face.  He opened the door.  
  
“On that note, good night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
Lyn tugged on his arm.  
  
“You don’t have to leave because we’re here.”  
  
James explained about Mass, and not wanting to disturb everyone in the early hours of the morning.  
  
“Besides, if you have to get up in the middle of the night, you don’t want to find me on the couch – I’ve been assured it’s not a pretty sight.”  
  
“On the couch?”  
  
“Where else would I sleep?”  
  
“I...  Right.”  Lyn looked thoughtful.  “We’ll see you tomorrow then,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.  
  
James bid her goodnight again, and left, but he couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking.  
.  
.  
.  
Lyn walked slowly back to the couch.  She stood and stared at her dad.  
  
“What's the matter, pet?”  
  
“When you told me about James looking after you, I got the impression he was living here.”  
  
“And he has been, this past week.  He is staying tomorrow night, if that's what you're worried about.”  
  
“On the couch?”  
  
“Of course on the couch.”  Lewis was puzzled.  
  
Lyn shot a look at Tim and cleared her throat.  After a second or two, recognition of some sort dawned on him.  
  
“Eh?  Ooh.  I'll, ah... I'll just go check on Matthew.  Make sure he has gone back to sleep.”  
  
Lewis had understood the look as well.  Val had started using it on him as Lyn had approached her teenage years.  As Val had explained at the time, “there are some things a girl wants to talk about without her dad in the room.”  Lewis had never questioned why they didn’t simply go to Lyn’s room, and he wondered when and why Lyn had started using the same look with Tim, and why now.  
  
Lyn’s eyes followed Tim’s progress through the flat, turning back to Lewis after the door to the bedroom clicked shut.  She sat down on the couch, her body turned towards him.  
  
“Why would James have to sleep on the couch?”  
  
“Where would you expect him to sleep?”  
  
“Where has he been sleeping?”  
  
“In the spare room, where you are.”  Lyn's expression puzzled Lewis.  “Where did you think he slept?”  
  
Lyn’s cheeks flared bright red, and she murmured, “I thought... with you.”  
  
“With...” Lewis's eyes opened wide.  “You think me and James...?”  He was curious, not upset, but was also very glad James wasn't there.  He sincerely hoped James never got wind of the conversation.  
  
He nearly missed Lyn's nod.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“The way you talk about him – doesn't matter what we talk about, James always comes up in the conversation.  And watching you here, together – you read each other effortlessly, and you're clearly comfortable being physically close, and the way he’s looking out for you, with your wrist...  I thought, perhaps...”  
  
Lewis moved closer to Lyn, putting his arm around her shoulder.  
  
“James is me best mate, love, and me partner – work partner,” he added in response to her enquiring glance.  “I don't know if you ever remember your mam moaning about me and Morse.”  
  
Lyn nodded.  “She often joked you were more married to Morse than her, just in a different way.”  
  
“Yeah.  That’s the nature of a good governor/bagman relationship.  James and I spend most of our waking hours together.  It builds a... closeness.  That’s all there is.”  
  
“Are you sure, Dad?”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“What about James?”  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“Oh, Dad,” she said softly.  It was almost a sigh.  
  
“What?”  
  
She looked at him long and hard.  “I’m tired,” she said finally.  “I’m probably just imagining things.  Doesn’t matter.”  She smiled wistfully.  
  
And that told Lewis it _did_ matter, it mattered a lot.  
.  
.  
.  
Lewis lay in bed, listening to the sounds of his family settling down.  He found himself waiting to hear James’s snoring.  That started him thinking about the strange conversation with Lyn.  Why on earth did she think there was more to his and James’s relationship?  He was quite certain he’d never said or done anything to create that impression, and he couldn’t recall James ever...  He recalled the look on James’s face as he stood under the mistletoe.  It was the briefest of glances, but Lewis thought he’d looked scared, but scared of what?  Lyn hadn’t been suggesting Tim kiss James.  _Hell!_  Was he worried Lewis would come over and kiss him?  And if he was, was James worried about the kiss, or what it might reveal?  Lewis started to remember other things, not least of which was James taking hold of his hand in the hospital, the comfort he’d taken from James’s touch, and the loss he’d felt when it wasn’t there.  But it wasn’t just this past week, was it?  Yes, they spent most of their time together, and, yes, that had built a closeness, a bond, between them, but there was more, so much more, wasn’t there?  Lewis started to put two and two together, and came up with a hell of a lot to think about.  
  



	7. Chapter 7

James let himself in with his spare key a little before seven.  Walking through to the kitchen, he could hear Lewis snoring, and he smiled to himself.  
  
“Good morning.  Merry Christmas, James.”  Lyn was on the couch, feeding Matthew.  
  
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”  James placed the bags in his hand on the worktop.  “I’ve got a second load to get; d’you mind if I leave the door open?”  
  
Lyn shook her head and smiled gently at him.  James fetched the remaining bags as quickly as possible.  One bag contained presents, which he added to the already substantial pile under the tree.  
  
Lyn put the now sleeping Matthew into the bouncer on the floor and followed James into the kitchen.  “Now I've seen this little lot, I understand why you needed to be at your own flat this morning.”  
  
James shrugged self-consciously.  “We had too much for one fridge.”  
  
“D’you need a hand?”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Lyn pulled out bacon, eggs, mushrooms and chipolatas.  “Not exactly Christmas fare, are they?”  
  
James grinned.  “We planned on a late lunch, three-ish, so I argued we'd all need a decent breakfast.  Your dad said–”  
  
“If you want a decent breakfast, you're cooking it.”  
  
“And good morning and Merry Christmas to you, s– Robbie.”  James was a little unsteady. 'Sir' was part of the armour he used to prevent giving himself away, and without the barrier of the title, he was afraid he'd slip up, even more so after yesterday’s episode with the mistletoe.  Despite Lewis’s request that James use ‘Robbie’ while Lyn was here, James knew in his gut that, out of calling Lewis 'sir' in front of Lyn, or risking letting his true feelings show, 'sir' would be the lesser evil.  
  
“Morning, Dad.  Merry Christmas.”  She kissed him and immediately sneezed.   
  
“You’re not coming down with a cold, are you?” Lewis asked with concern.  
  
“No, Dad, I’m fine.  It’s the beard.  I was going to say yesterday, if you were planning on dressing as Santa, you should have started growing that weeks ago.”  
  
“D'you not like it?”  Lewis was crestfallen.  
  
Lyn shook her head.  “I'm just like mum, I like my men clean-shaven.”  
  
“Your mam liked me with a beard,” Lewis protested mildly.  
  
“Oh, Dad,” Lyn smiled indulgently.  “Mum humoured you.  Each time you grew one, she put up with it because you liked it, and she knew you'd have to shave it off before you went back to work.  Sorry to be the bearer of sad news on this festive day.”  
  
Despite his obvious disappointment, Lewis soon rallied.  “Not doing it today, cheeky miss.  Got a busy enough day as it is, with lunch and all, and it’ll be too awkward with this thing anyway.”  He raised the cast.  
  
Lyn raised her eyebrows.  “Oh, but you _can_ do lunch?”  
  
“Well, no, not exactly.”  Lewis faltered slightly.  “I've got James's two hands for that, but I am going to help as much as I can.”  
  
“Then I'm sure James could help you with the beard in return.”  
  
She stepped away as Matthew snuffled and coughed.  James turned and ducked his head, hoping to hide the blush he’d felt race up his cheeks.  Out of the corner of his eye, however, he’d seen Lewis staring straight at him.  He risked a second glance.  For the first time in a very long time, James had no idea what Lewis was thinking.  Flustered, James returned his attention to the remaining bags on the worktop.  
  
James cleared his throat.  “There's some food here that should go in the cool box.  I put it in the bathroom.”  
  
“Pass it here.  I’ll pop it in.”  Lewis sounded like Lewis, but James also picked up the undertone of curiosity.  _Fuck_.  James didn't want today to be awkward.  
.  
.  
.  
They exchanged presents after breakfast.  Lewis sat on the coffee table, while the others sat on the floor in front of the tree.  Lyn had sent him an email in November with a list of items they needed for their new home – “just in case you’re stuck for ideas,” she’d written.  So like her mother, he’d thought at the time, always practical.  Lewis had found James the hardest to buy for.  In the end, he’d settled on a gift card from Waterstones, as had Lyn.  James’s face as he opened the two envelopes assured Lewis it had been a wise choice.   
  
Lewis was curious to see what James had chosen.  He’d told the lad he didn’t have to, but when James had insisted, Lewis had given him some suggestions from Lyn’s email, and one important condition: “In the Lewis family, this part of it, at least, the meaning behind the gift is more important than the gift itself.”  
  
Matthew’s gift was a surprise – a boxed, hardback set of the Narnia Chronicles.  Lewis had suggested books, knowing that would appeal to James, though he’d meant Dr Seuss, or Thomas the Tank Engine.  Lyn’s delight in James’s choice brought a smile to both Lewis and James.  
  
Lewis was surprised when James handed him a beautifully wrapped box.  
  
“What’s this then?”  The size and weight ruled out a book or DVD.  “I thought the decorations were me gift?”  
  
James began fiddling with one of the tree lights.  “Just a little something I thought you’d appreciate.”  
  
Lewis burst out laughing when he lifted the lid off the box.  
  
“Brilliant!” he chuckled, holding up the two aprons.   
  
James’s face brightened.  “I did wonder if you’d think I was taking the mickey.”  
  
“Never, lad.”  
  
“You’ll be able to put those to good use today, Dad,” Lyn giggled.  
  
“Certainly will, lass.”  
.  
.  
.  
In the end, three and a half pairs of hands prepared Christmas dinner.  Lewis’s kitchen only had space for three people at the worktop, so they took it in turns to entertain Matthew.  Lewis found himself smiling fondly when he heard James reading _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_ to the wee boy, complete with voices for each of the characters.  He caught Lyn looking at him, her eyes curious and questioning.  He wanted to ask her what she was thinking, but wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.  Not just yet.  He was still trying to sort out his own thoughts from the night before.  He concentrated on doing the few tasks he could manage, albeit slowly, with the cast.  
  
As they worked, Lyn teased Lewis about his beard, as only a daughter could.  From suggesting he should wear a hair net over his face, to wondering if he was hiding any breakfast leftovers, she kept making small, cheeky digs.  
  
With the turkey in the oven, they now had some time to relax.  Lewis tapped Lyn's shoulder as she went to drop onto the couch.   
  
“Right, c'mon you.  You've made such a fuss, you're going to help me get this beard off.”  
  
Lyn gaped in dismay, and Tim yelped.  
  
“Robbie, I really wouldn't advise that unless you want another trip to A &E.”  Tim was grave.  
  
Lyn blushed.  “He's not exaggerating, Dad.”  
  
Tim lifted his chin and revealed a long thin scar along his jaw line.  “And that was with a supposed safety razor.”  
  
Lewis blanched.  
  
“James?” Lyn suggested.  
  
James coughed.  “I’m sure there’ll be a barber open on Monday,if you can wait.”  
  
Lewis rubbed his face.  “Thanks to missy here, I don't think I can.”  He wasn’t angry at Lyn, and he laughed as she winced and ducked her head.  
  
“Sorry, Dad.”  
  
“Can you help?”  Lewis appealed to James.  It was probably all in his mind, but the beard was now starting to itch, and the sooner it was off, the better.  If he thought he could manage without getting the cast wet, he would do it himself, and he didn’t feel entirely comfortable asking Tim.  If James couldn’t...  
  
James swallowed hard and nodded slowly.  “If you really want it done today... I can.  And I promise not to leave any scars if you promise not to sneeze.”  
  
“It’s a deal.”  
  
Lewis led the way towards the bathroom.  
  
“Stop!” Lyn called out, stopping them as they were passing by the front door.  
  
They both turned to look at her.  She pointed over their heads.  James made a small, strangled sound and Lewis saw his jaw tighten.  _Bloody mistletoe_.  
  
“Go on.  It's traditional,” said Lyn.  
  
If Lyn had been smiling, Lewis would have been able to make a joke of it and brush her off.  However, Lyn took tradition seriously, another trait she’d inherited from Val, and, despite her embarrassment of only a few seconds ago, by the look on her face she was quite adamant about this.  
  
“And make it a proper one – no cheeks or air-kissing.”  She folded her arms and waited.  
  
To all intents and purposes, James was now staring calmly at Lewis, his back turned towards the living area; however, the faint twitching at the side of James’s mouth told Lewis another story.  _Buggering hell._   Lewis wished he knew what was going through James’s head.  Lewis himself was conflicted.  Kissing James was something he’d never considered before, but now that James was waiting for him, Lewis was shockingly aware that it was something he’d like to do.  _And what the blazes does that mean?_   A quiet cough reminded him Lyn was also waiting.  
  
As Lewis leant towards James, stretching up the few inches to meet his lips, he lightly gripped James’s elbow to balance himself.  The kiss was quick, the barest brushing of lips.  Through his fingertips, Lewis felt James shiver, and heard a soft gasp.  He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the depths of James’s.  James mumbled something unintelligible and headed for the bathroom.  It wasn't the response Lewis anticipated; he expected more snark, for James to diffuse the sudden... tension between them.  Lewis’s own physical response startled him even more.  He found he wanted to do it again.  It didn’t help that Lyn was giving him an “I told you so” look.  
  
Without a word, Lewis followed James into the bathroom, where he found him searching through the cabinet.  A disposable razor and hand towel sat at the side of the basin, which was filling with hot water.  James made an impatient sound in the back of his throat and reached for a can of shaving foam.  Lewis knew it had to be James’s own, as it wasn’t Lewis’s.  
  
“Not that, James.”  Lewis reached past James and removed a leather pouch from the bottom shelf.  “I think you were looking for this.”  
  
James didn’t turn around as he took the pouch from Lewis.   James’s ears were red, and Lewis couldn’t help but notice the way James carefully avoided brushing fingers.  
  
James opened the pouch and removed the contents, turning to Lewis with a question in his eyes.  
  
Lewis took the shave stick and shaving brush from James’s hands.  “I’ve tried those foams, and gels, and oils; never liked any of them.  Me face never felt right afterwards.  Can’t beat this way for getting a good lather.”  
  
James simply nodded.  Lewis wondered if he was going to speak at all through the process.  He briefly considered telling James not to bother, and if he wasn’t now so desperate to be rid of the beard, he probably would have.  He didn’t want the day, which had been going so well, to become uncomfortable either.  Then he remembered the way James had touched the fledgling growth in the hospital, and began to feel awkward and stupid and slow.  The sooner they started this, the sooner it would be over.  
  
“Where would you like me to stand?” Lewis murmured.  
  
“Um... Could you sit up on the vanity?  It’ll be a bit more comfortable for you than standing, and high enough that I won’t have to stoop.”  
  
 _Makes sense._   It wasn’t that high, and Lewis got up easily.  
  
James wet the brush and soon worked up a good lather.  
  
Lewis spoke quietly.  One of them had to break the silence.  
  
“You've done this before, haven’t you, and not just once or twice?”  
  
He’d hoped James wouldn’t ignore a question, but anything that referred to James’s past was always a grey area.  
  
“In the seminary,” James replied as he dampened and then started to lather Lewis’s face.  “Father Daniel had Parkinson's.  There was a roster of sorts in the beginning, but I was the only one who didn't make him bleed every time so...”  
  
“He'd ask for you?”  
  
James nodded and reapplied the freshly dampened brush to the shave stick.  “Father Damien preferred this to the foams as well.”  James studied Lewis’s face without making eye contact.  Satisfied with what he saw, he carefully rinsed the brush, set it on the vanity to dry, and picked up the razor.  He used his other hand to steady Lewis’s chin.  
  
“You're shaking,” Lewis observed.  
  
“It's been a while.”  James put the razor down.  “Please don't think me rude, but it'll be much safer if you don't talk while I do this.  I'm not good with moving targets.”  
  
“The way your hands are shaking, I'm not sure I'm safe now.”  
  
James clenched his fist and released it, holding up a steady hand to Lewis.  
  
“Better?” He managed a half-smile, a shaky one, and finally met Lewis’s gaze.  
  
Lewis nodded and mimed zipping his lip.  
  
James’s shaved Lewis’s first cheek quicker than Lewis could normally manage with two good hands, and then moved to the other side.  Lewis supposed it was the benefit of not needing to contort your face to see the mirror.  The only sound was the scrape of the blade against the hair and their steady breathing.  
  
Both cheeks finished, James stood in front of Lewis and carefully lifted his chin to shave underneath.  The position was awkward as Lewis’s knees were jammed against James’s stomach.  
  
“This’ll make it easier.”  Lewis spread his knees apart.  After a moment’s hesitation, James stepped forward into the space, swallowing hard and quickly lowering his eyes to the task again.  
  
James worked quickly and efficiently, wiping Lewis’s face with a warm, damp cloth to finish.  Lewis ran his good hand over his face, watching as James let the soapy, stubbly water go down the drain, and then rinsed the sink clean.  
  
“I think that’s the closest shave I’ve had in years.  Thanks.”  
  
James glanced up quickly.  “You’re welcome.”  
  
 _What the...?_ Lewis lightly grabbed James’s wrist.  
  
“James, I...”  
  
“All done, sir,” James spoke briskly and drew his arm from Lewis’s fingers.  “Better get out there and let Lyn inspect you.”  James turned his attention back to cleaning up.  Lewis didn’t push the issue, but he knew what he’d seen.  For a fraction of a second, there had been longing in James's eyes.  
  
Lewis clapped him on the shoulder, and squeezed for a moment longer than he usually would.  He then left James to his thoughts.  
  
“Thanks again, man.”  
  
Lewis stepped out of the bathroom just as Matthew cried out, nap time evidently over.  
  
“Stay where you are,” Lewis called out.  “I’ll get the bairn.”  
  
“It’s okay, Dad.”  Lyn started to rise.  “He’ll need changing.”  
  
“I do know what to do, lass.  But since you’re on your feet, how about putting the kettle on?”  
  
By the time he emerged from the room with a giggling Matthew, Lyn was busily putting together the tea tray, and James had taken his usual place on the couch and was talking to Tim.  They seemed to be discussing whether a four-blade razor was actually any better than a triple or twin.  There was no sign of discomfort or embarrassment, and when Lewis sat down beside him, James was relaxed.  But Lewis knew James, and was well aware at how good he was at hiding behind a mask.  _Probably for the best_ , thought Lewis.  It wasn’t as though they were going to have a heart to heart about any of what had just passed, anytime soon or otherwise.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Dinner was an all-round success.  The turkey was well-cooked and moist, and the vegetables all worked out, though Lewis was a little disappointed the potatoes weren't crispier.  
  
Lewis tried to carve the turkey, but had to admit defeat when he couldn’t hold the carving fork, and consequently the turkey, steady on the serving platter.  Between them, James and Tim managed to serve up four meals without butchering the poor bird too badly.  
  
Lewis waited for Lyn to try the stuffing first.  
  
“How is it, love?”  
  
“Mum would have been proud.”  
  
Lewis nodded across the table.  “You can thank James for that.  He was determined to get it right.”  
  
“It seemed important to you and your dad,” James murmured.  
  
Lyn rose and kissed his cheek.  “It means more than you’ll ever know.  Mum always said it had to be made with love and good intentions.”  
  
She sat down and raised her glass.  She and Tim had wine, while Lewis and James had Perrier.  
  
“I’d like to propose a toast.  To family and good friends, to memories old, and new beginnings.  Merry Christmas, everyone.”  
.  
.  
.  
They all ate far too much.  Even Monty, who ended up sprawled under the tree, making odd snoring sounds which kept sending Lyn off in fits of the giggles.  The kitchen had been cleaned up, the leftovers packed away, and the dishwasher loaded.  Matthew was on a play mat on the floor, and Lyn was curled up against Tim on the couch, leaving no room for anyone else.  Lewis was in the armchair, feeling very relaxed and a little drowsy, while James sat cross-legged on the floor, between the couch and the armchair, keeping an eye on Matthew, and ready to fetch anything from the kitchen if it was needed.  The telly was on, though no-one seemed to be paying much attention to it.   
  
Somewhere around eight, Matthew gave in to sleep, and Tim carried him to bed.  Lyn made another pot of tea, and James found a DVD they all agreed on.  
  
When the movie credits rolled, Tim stretched and yawned, waking Lyn.  Lewis regarded his surroundings happily.  James’s head was now resting against the side of the armchair, his hair inches away from Lewis’s fingers.  Lewis found himself tempted to stroke the familiar blonde head, and had James not lifted his head when he did, Lewis may have.  
  
James rose unsteadily to his feet.  From his stumbling gait, one or both of his feet had pins and needles.  Lewis watched him head for the hall cupboard, no doubt to get the spare bedding.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Lyn was also watching James and, when she saw what James was doing, she caught her father’s eye and scowled at him.  Lewis didn’t know what she expected him to do.  He could barely imagine James’s response if he suggested James share his bed.  Most likely, he’d excuse himself and drive home instead.  Lewis didn’t want that.  He wanted James there in the morning.  Lewis relaxed once Lyn and Tim said good night.   
  
Lewis waited while everyone else used the bathroom.  James made up his bed on the couch, and Lewis waved him off to the bathroom after Tim had finished.  Shortly after, Lewis bid James good night.  When he came out of the bathroom, the flat was in darkness, save for his bedside lamp.  He hadn’t turned it on, and assumed James had before turning off the lights.  That was typical of James, looking at the details.  
  
“Good night, lad,” Lewis whispered to the darkness.  
.  
.  
.  
Though he was tired, sleep didn’t come easily to Lewis.  When he closed his eyes, all he could see was the look in James’s eyes, and then the dream he’d had before he’d awakened in hospital rushed back to him.  Only now he realised it couldn’t have been a dream.  James had been at his side, worried, holding his hand, comforting him.  
  
Lewis wasn’t completely surprised by that.  The bloke cared about him; Lewis had known that for some time, and he cared about James.  Had their roles been reversed, he would have acted as James had.  They were mates, and mates looked out for each other.  
  
 _Oh, wake up, y’daft sod._ Lewis practically threw himself onto his side, thumping the pillow as he did so.  _There’_ _s a hell of a lot more to this than just being mates and you bloody well know it._  
  
Every mask James had ever worn around Lewis had been stripped away in that moment.  It was the same look Lewis had glimpsed this afternoon, and, if he was bloody honest with himself, a number of times before, and not just since the accident.  It went beyond simple caring, beyond friendship.  
  
 _Christ.  James loves me.  Really_ loves _me._  
  
Lewis sat up and forward, his elbows digging into his knees as he buried his face in his good hand.  _How’ve I not see this before? How bloody thick..._   “Oh,” he whispered to the dark.  “I did.”  
  
When he’d woken in the hospital, he’d mentioned Val, which had been ridiculous, as it had been unmistakeably James who’d been at his side in his dream that wasn’t a dream.  Now he understood why.  _It’s the same._ _It’s where I belong_ – in James’s hands, under James’s loving gaze.  The second he’d seen James’s face, he’d known everything was going to be okay.  He could be weak in front of James.  If it hurt too bloody much, he could give in to it and know James wouldn’t judge him.  He was safe with James.  Without doing anything, except being himself and loving him, James had become the most important person in Lewis’s life.  
  
 _I love James._   _I love him like I loved Val._  
  
 _But James is a bloke_ , he told himself.  _I’ve never... with a bloke._  
  
“Does that really matter?” came the unbidden question.  If what Lewis had felt from that one brief kiss under the mistletoe was any indication, the answer was ‘probably not’.  But could he trust those feelings, or was it his own craving for intimacy blowing everything out of proportion?  
  
Bugger it.  He wasn’t going to be able to sleep now.  Restless, he got up, intending to get himself a drink.  Then he’d try and read for a bit, not that he thought it would really help, but it was better than lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling, and wondering what was going on inside James’s head right now.  
  
He opened the door as quietly as possible, and tip-toed up the hallway.  A glow from the living area caught his attention.  James was sitting up on the couch, with the duvet around his shoulders.  His face was lit from below and, in the glow, Lewis could see James was wearing earphones.   
  
Lewis watched for a few minutes.  He could go back to bed, pick up his book, and try to ignore what he was feeling.  If he said nothing, he doubted James would say anything either.  But, knowing what he knew now, he didn’t know if he could comfortably be around James every day denying what he felt.  It wasn’t fair to...  to him or to James.  But what if he spoke up only to have James deny everything?  This was James; it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.  Lewis’s head was starting to hurt.   
  
“What’s the worst that could happen?” asked the voice.  __  
  
James could get up and leave.  Not just the flat.  Everything.  
  
“You’ve said he loves you.  Do you really believe he’d go?  Or are you doubting yourself?”  
  
 _What if I’m wrong?  What if it is just my own longing, my own loneliness, reading more into it than there is?  
  
_ “But you’re not lonely, are you?  You’ve said it yourself – you’re not lonely _because_ of James.”  
  
 _If I’m wrong about this and I open me big mouth, he’ll go – maybe not immediately, but he will, and then I will be lonely._  
  
“You don’t know that – but if you’re right and do nothing, you’ll always wonder.”  
  
James’s head was bobbing in a definite rhythm.  He hadn’t noticed Lewis standing in the shadows.  Lewis took a deep breath and walked slowly towards the couch.  He could now see James was using his phone.  
  
Without warning, James yanked the earphones out and spun around to face Lewis.  
  
“Oh, it’s you.”  James’s breath came out in a rush.  “I mean... I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”  His voice was just above a whisper.  
  
“S’okay, you didn't.”  Lewis was pleased to find he had a voice, and that he sounded calm.  “I was... couldn’t sleep.  What are you doing?”  Lewis sat down on the couch, and pointed to the phone.  “Listening to music?”  
  
James nodded.  “Couldn't sleep either.”  
  
They finally looked at each other.  The only light was the glow from James's phone.  
  
Lewis broke the silence.  “Look, James, about the mistletoe business; Lyn had–“  
  
James rushed in.  “I'm sorry, sir, it won't–”  
  
“Sorry for what?”  Lewis interrupted quietly.  “I’m the one who should be apologising to you.  And what's this 'sir' business?  I thought we'd talked about that.”  
  
James stared down towards his hands.  “S– Robbie, you don’t have anything to apologise for.”  
  
“I do.”  Lewis cupped James’s cheek, turned James's face towards him, and took a steadying breath.  “James, I’m sorry I couldn’t see what was right in front of me.”    
  
Lewis brushed James's lip with his thumb and James's eyes widened.  James studied Lewis intently.  For his part, Lewis hid nothing from James, and allowed himself a half-smile, a twitching at the corner of his mouth, as recognition, astonishment, and understanding crossed James's face.  
  
“May I?”  Lewis asked.  
  
James nodded slightly, a small movement Lewis felt under his fingers rather than saw.  Closing his eyes, Lewis leant in and pressed his lips to James’s.  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Better than,” James murmured against his lips, and Lewis kissed him again.  
  
After a fraction of a second, James responded, peppering Lewis’s lips with light, gentle kisses.  Lewis felt dizzy, a good dizzy.  This was bloody amazing.  He slipped his hand around to cradle the back of James’s neck, holding him close.  He had no idea where James’s hands were.  
  
Matthew’s sudden howl caused them to jerk apart.  James’s hands were flattened against his lap, his phone discarded somewhere.  Without that source of light, the room was much darker.  Only the faint glow of the streetlight along the edges of the drawn curtains allowed Lewis to see anything.  A pale yellow line appeared at the base of the bedroom door; Lyn must have turned on the lamp.  He and James listened to the sounds of Lyn tending to Matthew as their eyes adjusted to the dark.  
  
The flat fell silent and dark again.  James still looked warily towards the bedroom door.  
  
“C'm'ere,” Lewis whispered, gently cradling the back of James's neck and drawing him down into a kiss.  James responded immediately, and this time his hands sought out Lewis, clutching at his pyjama jacket.  
  
“Oh.”  The small sound came from the darkness, and Lewis looked up to see Lyn’s silhouette in the doorway.  She didn’t say anything, quickly disappearing towards the bathroom.  
  
James had pulled his hands away, and folded his arms tightly across his stomach.  Lewis tugged at one hand, taking it between his own hands as best he could.  _Blasted cast._ They sat silently until they heard the soft click of the bedroom door closing again.  
  
James groaned.  “I'm sorry, I didn't–”  
  
Lewis stopped him with a finger on his lips.  
  
“Nothing to be sorry for.”  
  
“But now Lyn will think...”  
  
“What?  That you and I are more than mates?”  
  
James nodded.  
  
“She already does.”  James's jaw dropped.  “After you left on Christmas Eve, I got a bit of a grilling about why you would have to sleep on the couch, and you didn’t see the black looks I got tonight when you fetched the bedding from the cupboard.”  Lewis tenderly rubbed the back of James’s hand with his thumb.  “But we are, aren't we – more than mates, that is?  You recognised it long before I did; as for me... let’s just say mistletoe has a lot to answer for.” He huffed.  I’ve known you for years and didn’t see a thing, but Lyn saw it the first time she met you.”  
  
“I, ah...”  James covered Lewis’s hand with his own.  “I didn't want you to see.  I didn't know how you'd feel and your friendship was too precious to me to jeopardise with... with a hopeless dream.”  
  
“That’s a fair point.  Not so hopeless now, though, is it?”  
  
James looked slightly dazed and laughed breathily.  “It’s... no, it’s not... This was... unexpected... and I may have to revise my opinion of mistletoe.  How do you feel?” he asked, suddenly serious.  
  
Lewis exhaled a soft laugh.  “I’m here, aren’t I?  I guess that says more than any words can.”  Lewis stood, tightening his grip on James’s hand and tugging him to his feet.  “Come to bed.”  
  
James blinked rapidly.  “I... erm... what?”  
  
“Come to bed.  The couch isn't big enough for both of us, and I can't very well leave you by yourself now, can I?”  He squeezed James’s hand.  “Besides, I can’t really figure out the rest of this by meself.”  
.  
.  
.  
They lay under the duvet, facing each other.  Robbie’s plastered wrist rested on the pillow between them.  With his other hand, Robbie traced James’s jaw line with his fingers.  James scooted closer, bringing his cheek to rest next to Robbie’s hand.  Hesitantly, he slipped his arm around Robbie’s waist, and pulled him as close as possible.  James finally stopped trembling.  
  
“Is this okay?” James asked.  
  
“Aye.”  It was barely a croak.   
  
“And this?”  Robbie closed his eyes as James lifted himself on one elbow and leant forward to place soft kisses on Robbie’s brow.  
  
Robbie lifted his chin, and James took the hint, kissing him long and deep.   
  
James caressed Robbie’s face, his fingers brushing lightly over the forming scar and faded bruises, and then down and across his cheek and chin.  
  
“D’you miss the beard?” Robbie asked.  “Would you have rather I kept it?”  
  
James ran a finger lightly up Lewis's jaw line, carrying on until his fingers were splayed along the back of Robbie’s neck.  “I'll help you shaveevery day until your wrist’s better, if you like.”  
  
“I'll take that as a 'no', then.”  Robbie chuckled.  
  
James silenced him with more kisses.  
.  
.  
.  
Robbie opened his eyes slowly.  He’d fallen asleep wrapped in James’s arms... and legs.  He tried to remember how James had ended up taking the lead, before deciding it didn’t really matter.  It had been familiar and strange at the same time, but not frightening.  Right now, Robbie had no idea where this would lead them – there were a lot of things they would have to talk about – but if James wasn't over-thinking this – and judging by the gentle smile on his sleeping face, he wasn’t – well, Robbie wasn't going to either.  
  
He kissed James’s forehead.  “Merry Christmas, pet.”

 

~o0o~

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be my Lewis Challenge Secret Santa 2013 piece. Sadly, due to circumstances, I was unable to complete it and withdrew from the exchange. Thankfully, my intended recipient received a beautiful story thanks to the talented writer who stepped up as a pinch-hitter. You know who you are, and I thank you again. 
> 
> Life has improved, and the words are flowing again, and though post-Easter is an odd time for a Christmas story, here it is.


End file.
